


Variability

by shudhavbinjamie



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Tony Feels, self-characterization
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-01
Updated: 2012-07-01
Packaged: 2017-11-08 22:19:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shudhavbinjamie/pseuds/shudhavbinjamie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life was a dauntingly complicated formula but Tony Stark was a genius. </p>
<p>Steve Rogers was just another variable. Complex but predictable. Except when he isn’t.</p>
<p>What Tony can’t understand, he can’t prepare for. But he tries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A first try at the Avengers fandom.

Tony Stark was a spur of the moment kind of guy.

It has never really been a problem. He was a genius and his decisions are not half-assed no matter how they seem that way to others. No, he calculates, formulates and analyzes. And him being a genius (yes, it is required to say it again and again), he can do this at a timely manner. Split second decisions? Oh those have been thoroughly examined, every variable accounted for, every consequence foreseen before the first half of that split second was even over. Living by the moment, thinking faster than that. ****

So when he met Steve Rogers, he knew what would happen. The guy was more than he ever imagined. He was larger than life. _Captain America,_ the guy ~~his dad~~ Howard would choose over him every time. And he should. There was no competition. Rogers was a man that so rightfully belongs to a pedestal. And like every other great thing in the world, he coveted it with all his affection-starved, guilt-ridden, pitiful excuse of an existence.

**Someone who would look and see a child begging for attention. And love. And just plain acknowledgement. _Please save me, please Captain America. Pretty please._**

And like every other thing he coveted, he can’t have it, lest he wished to destroy it. Because that’s what he’s good at. _Destruction_. Just see the footage.

**Or look in the mirror.**

And so he dons the mask that he has so carefully built up over the years. The life model decoy of Tony Stark to a world which so readily believes the worst of him. The devil-may-care persona that can even fool Pepper and Rhodey at times (and isn’t that just sad?).

**How long until they believe completely? Until they leave too? Estimate: not very long.**

Disastrous first impression? Big red permanent marker check.

It was so easy. He didn’t expect it to hurt so much. _Big man in a suit of armor._ Didn’t expect the good ol’ captain who believes in the good of the undeserving humanity to make the exception for him. _I know guys with none of that worth ten of you._

**As if he didn’t know that. As if he didn’t grow up knowing no matter what he did, how hard he tried, he was a disappointment. And he’s not worth it.**

But that’s okay. Unknown variables come up all the time, he can make adjustments. He can compensate. There’s a glorious ~~bottle~~ crate of bourbon waiting patiently for him at the tower.

**Delightful buzz filled with colors and sounds and pleasure. Not blood. Not pain. Not darkness. Just a world where he can pretend he’s not broken. Just drunk.**

And then the explosion. The army from hell. The nuke.

Fucking brilliant.

Everything is chaos, but hell this was his scene. And with that nuke coming in to end it all in a convoluted bang–

_You’re not the guy to make the sacrifice play._

Let’s just say nothing stands in the way of him and his beloved alcohol.

**One life for the sake of thousands. For the sake of Steve worth so much more than that. And maybe even Natasha and Clint and Thor and Bruce. For _Coulson_.**

He’s got it all planned out. He dies and the world continues spinning with random people shaking their heads in feigned sorrow. Or he survives and he’s still an asshole that gave his life for bourbon.

**_The man with everything and nothing._ **

But well, Steve was an idiot. He actually thought it was a sacrifice play. And isn’t that just ironic. In your fucking star-spangled face.

The look in his eyes. That smile. _We won._

**Gratitude. Acknowledgement. Respect.**

That wasn’t in the equation.

Unexpected.

It’s unreal. He’s a freaking genius, goddamnit. That’s just not logical.

_What the hell? What just happened?_

This is a moment – for all his genius – he’s not prepared for.

 

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

He blames it on the adrenaline rush. The post-battle high. They just won the war for crying out loud.

**Don’t think about the casualties. Innocent people. The bus full of children. People as broken as the pavement in 6 th avenue. _Trauma?_ You don’t know half of it.**

He blames the shwarma. That little meal that provided a picture of an almost family instead of just a couple of tormented people with red-stained hands. The strong meaty aroma of those little wraps was enough to mask the smell of blood, at least for a while.

But a while was all it took to issue his invitation. **A plea hidden beneath the mile-per-minute babble.**

“So where do we go from here?” Bruce asks through a mouthful of shwarma.

“Stark Tower’s free or should I say ‘A’ tower which when you think about it fits, you know what I mean? Anyway, there’s a lot of space there for lodging and the occasional hulking out, or when Natasha’s up for strip dancing, I can install poles. Yeah, of course it needs a _little_ restructuring, what with the whole wreckage from the puny god and his army of Alien VS Predator wannabes – oh, you don’t get the reference do you Cap? So a little fix and it’ll be right as day.”

They finished their meal. They went their separate ways.

**On the flight back, he blames the ache in his heart to the diminishing power of the arc reactor in his chest. He’s got a tower (what’s left of it), who cares if it’s empty. It always is. He saw that coming. It’s a simple equation with simple disjointed ~~soldiers~~ variables.**

They saw each other again not too long after doomsday to take care of a few loose ends. He dresses up smartly, expensively as he always does in a suit and dark shades that work to cover his bloodshot eyes (67 hours of insomnia, booze, metal and circuits) **.**

Imagine his surprise at Bruce’s duffel bag in the back seat of his car. At Steve’s firm grip. At Natasha and Clint’s nod and wave. At their collective, “Later.”

Maybe he hit his head too hard on that rotor or he went too long without oxygen in those few seconds his suit failed on him _in outer space_ or maybe Loki’s glow stick messed with his brain or something. The point is things really are not adding up. And he left a large margin for error, just in case, but it’s gone beyond that, it’s not mathematically probable. No. Not Tony Stark possible.

It sends him reeling.

So he stares dumbly at Steve standing awkwardly at the entrance hall with a small determined look n his face.

“I’m sorry.”

Wait. Rewind. Stop. Play.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says straight to his face, his eyes, his soul (what passes for it).

Captain America just apologized to him. With all the shit he’s thrown at Steve, it’s Steve who still apologizes.

“It was uncalled for, what I said. I shouldn’t have judged you. I didn’t know you and it was unfair to assume. I was a bully and you have no idea how sorry I am to be that person to you.”

Captain America = bully

What the fucking hell?

He laughs. He keels over and laughs. This is so funny it _hurts._

**Because Steve is apologizing for telling the truth. Because Steve is apologizing to _him._ Because he’s the asshole and bully and Steve, Steve is unreal as hell.**

When all else fails, be an asshole. Defense Mechanism 101.

“You can drop the all-American-hero act you know. We’re not shooting a movie. You can’t tell me you didn’t mean what you said.”

_Big man in a suit of armor, take that off what are you?_

_I know guys with none of that worth ten of you._

_The only thing you really fight for is yourself._

_You’re not the guy to make the sacrifice play._

_You better stop pretending to be a hero._

**That’s why the suit exists, doesn’t it? So he can pretend to be a hero. So he can make-believe that he’s a good person and not the _Merchant of Death._ So he can, for just a second, be just like the man in red and blue regalia whose poster hangs on his childhood’s room and his adulthood’s psyche. **

Steve’s brow furrows, his eyes narrows, and his mouth turns the slightest bit down.

“Quite the tactician you are. Hitting all the right spot.”

He didn’t mean for that to come out. In his barely concealed bitter, pained tone. He turns before he processes how Steve eyes’ widen and the tiniest of understanding creep through.

“Choose whatever room you like.”

He walks out. He can’t deal with this.

To be continued...


End file.
